


Stin Athina

by Among (Seethedawn)



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anachronisms galore, Ancient Greece, Are You Going To Say Ineffable, Aziraphale's Anxiety, Crawley, Early Days, Gen, Minor Reference to Potential Rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 16:39:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19772218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seethedawn/pseuds/Among
Summary: “Now, Aziraphale, tell us of the demon Crawley.”“Oh, I, uh, I haven’t really run into him, you see.”Gabriel and Uriel’s eyes cut to each other. The bright glare of Heavenly grace does not do much to disguise their contempt.“He has been in Athens for almost three years now, Aziraphale,” Says Gabriel, slowly, as if Aziraphale isn’t likely to understand.“Yes, well, quite a large city, you know. Over a hundred thousand humans now! Quite impressive,” They don’t look impressed. Aziraphale raises his fist and gives it a little shake, “But I’ll certainly keep an eye out for him!”+   +   +Aziraphale and Crawley in Athens, ~ 500 BC onward.





	Stin Athina

“Now, Aziraphale, tell us of the demon Crawley,”

And what’s Aziraphale supposed to say to that, really? Oh, I sheltered him from the first storm, fretted with him about the biggest?

“Oh, I, uh, I haven’t really run into him, you see.”

Gabriel and Uriel’s eyes cut to each other. The bright glare of Heavenly grace does not do much to disguise their contempt.

“We have received word that he has been in Athens for almost three years now, Aziraphale,” Says Gabriel, slowly, as if Aziraphale isn’t likely to understand.

“Yes, well, quite a large city, you know. Over a hundred thousand humans now! Quite impressive,” They don’t look impressed. Aziraphale raises his fist and gives it a little shake, “But I’ll certainly keep an eye out for him!”

He lets out a soft little growl, which he very much regrets.

“Right,” says Gabriel, “well, let us know if anything changes. We will be in touch with further orders, and your next performance review will be in another five years.”

“Looking forward to it,” Aziraphale says, bearing false witness in Heaven. But he’s long-since come to terms with this particular omission of truth.

\+ +

Feats of human construction were beginning to get quite spectacular. However, the gate to Heaven intends to blend in with its more humble surroundings, humankind passing by unaware. So Aziraphale slides out of the small public temple at the south end of the city, and rejoins the light crowd, none of whom would find themselves able to consistently name the deity honored by the somewhat shabby little temple.

A quick glance to the sky - it’s early but not so early that he needs to return home and pretend to be asleep. And the baths will be lovely and clear! So he heads off, running over the meeting in his head as he goes. A few miracles and blessings coming up, so, something to look forward to there, Aziraphale supposes.

Problem is, miracles around here tend to be rather mistaken for proof of some pagan entity or another, which Upstairs isn’t exactly in love with. But the Jewish community gets their little stroke of luck every now and then, and, if you asked Aziraphale off-the-record, there seemed to be a few specific families that hold Heaven’s particular interest. Aziraphale thinks it’s bloodlines, perhaps? Someone fated to be born, whose Great-Great-Grandmother must not, then, die of one of the host of childhood illnesses running rampant across the city, or somesuch.

So far, Athens was certainly one of Aziraphale’s favorite human accomplishments. Imagine, running water! The baths were just divine. The food was so varied. The spices! Oh.

Aziraphale also rather liked their penchant for coming up with very creative stories. So many Gods and Goddesses and wood-nymphs and heroes. And the most impressive talent for retelling!

Aziraphale had been in the city for 30 or so years now, though he couldn’t say precisely, human calendar systems being what they were. The dear little things did try quite hard though.

Odd thing was, he really hadn’t encountered Crawley. He hadn’t noticed a particular downturn in the city’s mood either. There had been that brief business before the reforms, but that had been long settled now.

Well, he would just have to be vigilant. Crawley had proven himself civil enough during past encounters, and he never seemed to stick around anyplace very long. Perhaps Gabriel’s information was old? That seemed quite likely. And, it had been no lie, Athens was a teeming metropolis these days. Besides, it made sense that the demon would be concealing himself, avoiding Aziraphale’s, and by extension, Heaven’s attention.

Aziraphale would indulge in a soak, then off to breakfast. He knew a place that served up lovely spiced bread rolls, and they’d still be warm if he was quick enough.

\+ +

It was a further thirteen months before Aziraphale encountered Crawley. He had finished up listening to the most eloquent young man speaking in the public forum, and was now taking a leisurely stroll about the Agora, just soaking in the sounds of the market. He stopped to consider a batch of salted fish. The market was coming to an end, so it would be a boon to the proprietor to make the sale before the day ended…?

Aziraphale was, perhaps, rather intent on the transaction - important to bend to local custom so as to avoid suspicion - because when he turned back to his path, he came just about nose to nose with the wide yellow eyes of a snake.

He startled badly and lurched backwards, arms wheeling in a distinctly undignified manner, and he dropped his fish.

“Aziraphale! Let me get that for you,” Crawley snapped his fingers - frivolous demonic miracles! - and held out to Aziraphale a dust-free salted fish. As if Aziraphale didn’t know better than to take it.

“Crawley, what in Heaven's name are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know me,” the demon responded with a wide smile, waggling the fish in front of Aziraphale with increasing animation, “keeping busy.”

“Yes, well,” said Aziraphale, moving to go around the demon, quite ignoring the fish, “I imagine I’d prefer you keep the details to yourself.”

"Weeell, now that you've asked," Crowley makes an exaggerated turn, tossing the fish over his shoulder and sauntering along, matching Aziraphale's brisk pace and ignoring his brusque, "I didn't ask!"

"I've got a bit of a problem, actually. Work troubles y'know. Come to think of it though, it's exactly the kind of thing you might be able to help me out with…"

"I imagine whatever is vexing you, I will find myself wholly supportive of!"

Suddenly the fish is back, Crawley gives it a waggle, matched by his eyebrows, and drawls "Bet you this dead demon fish I can prove you wrong.”

Aziraphale keeps walking.

“What? That is why you don’t want it now. You think I’ve done something to it, eh?” He examines the small cooked thing, considering. Smells it. Throws it again, not taking much effort to avoid it landing in the street, “Seems awfully wasteful, don’t you think?”

Aziraphale waves apologetically at the Athenians just moving about their day, suddenly dodging flying fish.

“What, Crawley? What?”

“Alright, keep your wings on. So there’s this girl. Lovely young thing, sweet as can be, right? Unlucky enough to be serving as the virgin priestess of one of the local temples.” A coil of dread winds around Aziraphale’s body’s digestive organs. Crawley continues, perfectly casual, “So Downstairs gets the idea that she should be… no longer qualified for the job, so to speak. So, I try the usual-”

Aziraphale rears back, shocked despite himself.

_A truly horrified expression. -Not the kids you can’t kill the kids-_

“Not me, personally, Aziraphale, obviously not me personally! Just, y’know, arranging things. Oh look what an attractive young servant of the temple out there tending the plants. Oh look, a light rain has him nice and damp looking.

“Anyway, girl’s completely devout. Not even really an inkling toward breaking her solemn vows,” Crawley’s head wobbles on his neck, the effect is odd, but clearly indicative of disdain.

“And you’re here because you think I might help you somehow?”

“Oh yes, Aziraphale, I’m here because I need you to seduce the young maiden on Satan’s behalf,” Crawley drawls, accompanied by a major eye roll.

“Then what, precisely-”

“Listen, just shut up and stop guessing, alright! So, as far as I’m concerned, y’tempt, and if they resist, then hey, good effort, lotta other humans in the city, you know? Move on. Fair play, really. Problem is, bosses Downstairs are pretty set on the old un-virginizing of the stubborn girl.”

Crawley pauses, mouth twisting around the words.

The poor dear girl, Aziraphale thinks. It’s horrible, for her to be the subject of such specific demonic attention. At the same time, he finds himself rather warmed by Crawley’s obviously shared sentiments.

“So I’ve been instructed to set the whole thing up. Only, from my perspective, this isn’t tempting some human into, like, exercising their free will and breaking free of societal chains and all that. This is just, hiring some goons. No subtlety. So I was thinking,” His sharp eyes cut back to Aziraphale for the first time. They are always yellower than Aziraphale is expecting, somehow. “What if my well laid plans were to be thwarted by some angelic force, eh?”

“Oh,” breathes Aziraphale, finally understanding, “oh, I’m sorry Crawley, I haven’t heard anything from upstairs about any of this.”

Crawley frowns. “What?”

“Well I just, I think I’d have heard, if angels were being sent to the city to protect the poor dear.”

Crawley’s face is all scrunched up, as if he stopped himself mid snake transition.

“Are you serious. Is this really how thick you’re going to be? Hell, you are, aren’t you? There is an Angel in the city to protect 'the poor dear,' Aziraphale!”

“Me?” Aziraphale stops walking the circuit, at once entirely embarrassed to be caught discounting himself so thoroughly, and conversely, highly nervous at Crawley’s suggestion.

Crawley nods, “yes, you. Obviously you!”

“Oh I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Well I - well, you see. Well. I would have to talk to-” he points upstairs, but discreetly, so as not to draw attention.

“This isn't like standing by and watching one family fill up a whole ark load of animals and leaving everyone else behind, Aziraphale! There's nothing predestined about this, It's not the Almighty, you're just thwarting a demon! You're really telling me you need to get that rubber stamped first?"

Shamed, Aziraphale snaps back, "Well, why's it so important to you anyway!? And why don't you do something about it yourself!"

"My bosses have decided that things in the city have been a little too... prosperous. Not meeting my quotas, apparently - no appreciation whatsoever for subtlety! So if I can show that I'm being thwarted, point out that they've sent me to a city with an active Angel, then maybe I can get a little peace and quiet again! And besides, I am doing something! I'm telling you, which, frankly, I thought you would be a little less -" he waves his arm at Aziraphale, the gesture fully encapsulating the nervous, pitiful aura Aziraphale is sure he is giving off.

Aziraphale's eyes drop to the floor.

"Well, perhaps if I spoke to Gabriel? Said one of my human informants tipped me off?"

"No time, Angel. It's on for tonight. Cult of Demeter's temple complex, just after midnight, they'll be there. In case you decide you can risk it." His words are laced with poison, or they may as well be, for all the acid he injects them with.

Crawley stalks off, agitated. The humans seem to sense danger and they give him a wide berth. The sounds of the marketplace rush back in, Aziraphale realizes with a little start that Crawley must have been shielding their conversation.

Aziraphale is left standing alone, with the distinct impression that he has disappointed the demon.

\+ +

The sun is taking a very long time to set today, Aziraphale notes, checking the light out of his window again. A leisurely chariot-ride across the sky, the locals would say.

Aziraphale's honeyed-bread and olives are sticking in his throat, his limbs feeling faintly detached. His body rarely behaves in this manner, and it's adding to his distress.

Crawley is obviously lying. He had decided this almost immediately after their conversation. Demons are creatures of manipulation and deception. It's a trick to lure Aziraphale out into the city after dark. Once he was no longer in Crawley's presence, it became so obvious.

A demon, approaching an Angel to protect a young maiden from harm? Clearly, Crawley thought Aziraphale stupid.

Different versions of the conversation played through Aziraphale's head on a loop - where he would give the demon a piece of his mind rather than cowering and apologizing. Plenty of choice phrases to hold on to, should there be future opportunities.

The sun fully set now, Aziraphale settles in. His nights in the city are long and rather empty. Aziraphale busies himself with the household. He keeps no slaves, which leaves him with various chores to occupy his time. But they do not serve to occupy his mind.

He is still certain Crawley is lying. But he has become rather stuck on the idea of the demon's apparent disappointment.

Disappointed his flimsy plan has not yielded fruit, Aziraphale supposes.

It has been some centuries now since his last encounter with the demon. But that didn't quite align with the impression Aziraphale had of him thus far.

It had been hundreds of years, though. And demons were notoriously more changeable than Angels.

The moon crept higher into the sky.

If Crawley was lying, and Aziraphale went to the temple, the risk to Aziraphale was fairly high. But it was only a risk to Aziraphale.

If Crawley was not lying, and Aziraphale stayed home. Well, he didn't want to dwell on it.

_You're an Angel. I don't think you can do the wrong thing._

The staggering weight of relief, he remembers, had hit him almost as a physical blow.

In the absence of orders, Aziraphale always tries to do the right thing. To be a force for good on the Earth.

One final glance skyward. Well, he would have to get a bit of a wiggle on if he was going to get all the way to Demeter's temple in time. Aziraphale reaches for his sandals.

\+ +

Crossing the city with some urgency under cover of darkness heightens the thrum of anxiety under Aziraphale's layers of skin.

Is he rushing toward a violent ambush? A practical joke set up for Crawley's amusement?

Heaven would not approve of him taking this risk, and if he ends up discorporated, he will have a great number of omissions to confess.

He arrives at the complex and immediately feels the ridiculousness of the situation. What is he even going to do should he come across some band of ill-intended ruffians - fight? Shout for a guard? Throw himself in front of the girl and get himself discorporated for the trouble?

The air is still, the moon still high enough in the sky to light the pathways. The imposing white temple columns cast shadows out into the courtyard, the fires of the inner sanctum making a jumping, random effect across the stone.

Aziraphale doesn't see anything moving. Then his eyes catch a large serpent, black as any shadow, winding it's way slowly through the branches of a large old tree in the center of the compound.

The snake has spotted him. Aziraphale hurries over, treading lightly so as to reduce the sound of his footfalls.

The snake lowers itself down slightly so they are at eye level.

"Subtle," Aziraphale tells it. The snake flicks out its tongue and turns back to watch one of the smaller buildings adjacent to the big temple. It is not encased in marble, but the brickwork is more even than you see typically. Aziraphale gathers this is the living quarters.

"So when -"

The snake cuts him off with a soft hiss that sounds remarkably like Aziraphale is being shhhh'd.

Aziraphale crosses his arms, indignant, but settles himself against the trunk of the tree where he won't be seen, and makes his body go truly still. Not a breath passes between the two for several hours.

It's almost peaceful. The sounds of the city at night, the rustle of the wind in the tree, the many insects and smaller mammals and birds going about their nocturnal business.

Then - shadows moving at the complex wall. Three men picking their way across the courtyard, whispering among themselves. Aziraphale hears them well enough, sickened to find them playfully bickering over first rights to the unsuspecting girl's body.

If asked to describe himself at that moment, Aziraphale would probably say he was _feeling a bit tetchy_.

Originally he thought he would scare them off. Perhaps something loud or bright - s lightning strike or somesuch, which would give the appearance of supernatural wrath without really doing much at all.

This does not feel adequate to the little selection of humanity before him.

With a brief spark of concentration, Aziraphale does his work. The closer they creep to the preistess' living quarters, the further they sink into the earth below.

They begin to panic quickly. Initially, it is like wading through shallow water, but the closer they get, the more reluctant the earth becomes to relinquish it's heavy hold.

The first man is up to his knees when he finally finds himself entirely unable to pull his leg from the earthen grip. He plunges his hand into the earth to try and dig his other limbs out, but finds he cannot free pull it free either.

The other two, equally stuck, though not as deep, are neither able nor willing to assist.

They have been keeping their voices down, smart enough to know they do not want to call attention to themselves, but the realization that his hands have been swallowed by the earth brings a wail of despair from the first man.

The snake bumps Aziraphale's shoulder. Aziraphale agrees, it is time to go.

The compound is waking up quickly now, as the men's squawking increases in pitch and ferocity. Aziraphale ducks around a building, not at all wanting to explain his presence. Crawley is there, limbs restored, red hair and yellow eyes gleaming in the moonlight. He grins, evidently pleased.

"Come on," he says, leading Aziraphale back out onto the path. He gives a little snap of his fingers, "no one'll see."

Hesitating only briefly, Aziraphale follows, and soon they are back in the safety of the main city.

It’s an almost companionable silence as they wander, not headed in any direction that Aziraphale can identify. Something peaceful has washed over Aziraphale - a rare experience for the long-lived angel. He will examine it at length later: his almost violent response to those men, the serenity that has fallen upon him since, the startlingly easy company of Eden’s Serpent.

Crawley breaks the silence, angling slightly toward Aziraphale and casually offering, “Fancy a drink then? I know a place that’ll be open.”

Reality crashes upon Aziraphale like an almighty wave. Crawley could be leading him anywhere! He fairly staggers away, eyeing up and down the street for witnesses. Not that Heaven needs earthly witnesses.

“No! Crawley, no! I have to go. Don't - Don’t contact me again!”

Aziraphale is almost running in his haste to put distance between himself and the demon in whose company he just passed most of the night.

Crawley watches his retreating figure, considering.

“Well,” he mutters, “that was a thing.”

**Author's Note:**

> PS: Re Aziraphale - think John Mulaney, "You ain't taking me to no secondary location!"


End file.
